Sherlockian Prompts
by Pakmai
Summary: A collection of one-shots inspired by writing prompts found on the internet, written within the Sherlock 'verse. Some Johnlock, but probably not all of them. All Sherlock characters are game!
1. Symbiosis with Sherlock

**First of all, nothing Sherlock belongs to me, it belongs to Sir A.C. Doyle, Gatiss and Moffat.**

 **I started discovering some writing prompts on Pinterest lately so decided to take a few of them on since they wouldn't leave my brain alone. And since I have the short little one-shots inspired by these prompts, I decided to put them up here for others to enjoy. And I certainly hope that you do!**

 **This prompt was: Mental illnesses are beings that attach onto humans, causing them the illness. You are one of these beings in a hospital, looking for a baby to attach to.**

 **And of course my go-to theme was Sherlock, so that is what this is. :)**

 **Reviews/comments very welcome!**

* * *

Schizophrenia, Multiple Personality Disorder, ADD, ADHD, there are a multitude of names for us. The humans have no idea we are not just a chemical imbalance. We are not linked to genetics. We are small in number, but we are like any other sentient organism. There are things we need to survive, and the biggest thing is shelter and food. Both of which we find inside the human mind. Most of us try to choose their homes when a human is just a child, let them get used to us, give them a chance to deal with us. That is when we are called more mild things like ADD or ADHD. However, if our host dies and we must move on, sometimes we must settle for someone older. That is when more of the troubles start. I have not been around very long, not long enough to truly know what is best to look for in a host. The unfortunate truth is, I need one. By the end of the day, or I will starve. Invisible to the nurses wandering the ward, I drift through the rows and rows of babies that mostly sit sleeping peacefully in their cribs. It seems to be late at night if I judge correctly. Stopping by one of the little cribs, I look down at a silent baby, blue-green eyes wide open and staring up at everything, a shock of black hair already covering what should be a bald head. The blue blanket says the child is a boy. I look down at the name on the crib and then look back at the baby, who – for just a moment – looks back at me.

"You'll be strong of mind, you will be able to handle my presence. I'm sorry for any damage I might cause to you along the way, I only hope you will adjust to me in a way where you can still help society." I speak quietly to the baby, positive no one can hear me. Not even the child. Hovering just above the baby's head, I look around to make sure that none other of my kind are around, before I settle myself into the warm cocoon of the child's mind, arranging myself in what I hope will be the least detrimental way possible.

"You and me, young one, we will be together until you die. My little Sherlock." I murmur quietly in the child's mind. My intrusion is not unnoticed by the child however, as he begins to cry and squirm around in his bed. I was warned by the others about this part. It may be painful to the child until it grows accustomed to me, but they should soon grow accustomed to my presence. Children are the best because of that. They are such adaptable creatures,

The nurse who was making her rounds returns and picks up little Sherlock, cradling him gently and rocking him a little. "Shush now, you're safe.. you'll wake up the others." She coos to him, all the while remaining oblivious to the real reason for his distress. Still, it calms him down and soon he drifts off to sleep, dreaming things not even I can understand.

It's clear to me he's already clever, however. He is starting to piece things together about the nurse, about the world around him. His silence and observation of the outside world was a sign of this. Yes, he will be very clever indeed, and I suddenly find myself looking forward to what I will see through his eyes, as I, too, drift into the oblivion of sleep.

Years later my effect starts to be seen. Sherlock is 6 now, just starting to attend school with other kids. He is very intelligent, he can see things and put together clues about people, to learn the truth about them. Some of the things he sees he doesn't understand and neither do I. He has no reference point for them, but other things he sees makes people angry at them because he doesn't understand why he shouldn't tell people. The kids at the school are cruel to him and he doesn't understand why.

He doesn't understand the emotions of the other kids, what he says that makes them hate him so much. Sherlock has an older brother named Mycroft who is similar, I wonder if it is another of my kind who has been with him but we cannot sense eachother once we have taken a host, not without leaving them which causes irreparable damage the majority of the time. I won't risk that for Sherlock, I've grown to care for him too much. Mycroft tries to help Sherlock understand. Other people are idiots, he says, and caring is not an advantage. I don't agree, but there is nothing I can do about it. The young boy starts to shut himself off from emotion, honing his other skills with the assistance of his brother. His mind works so fast and in such unusual ways. I find it hard to keep up sometimes, but also I am fascinated by it, and I understand how rare this is among humans.

We are taught about the human world before we are required to go out into it. There are not many of us, and young ones like myself are almost as rare as those teachers who can exist outside of humans. There are only three of those, who teach and guide the young ones and those who have been expelled or have lost their human hosts. Some get quite attached to them, as I am attached to my Sherlock, and so when they outlive their chosen hosts it can be a traumatic experience to leave them. Some choose not to, and die with their companions. Some move on to family members, which is why human scientists think certain 'mental illnesses' are hereditary.

There is little I can do to help Sherlock when one of the bullies gets physical. I have shelter and sustenance provided by his mind but very little influence over his thoughts. A nudge here, a tap there which can be ignored or heeded depending on the situation and the particular thing we are attempting to influence. I sit and watch his development with concern, trying to nudge him in the direction of understanding people even if he doesn't particularly like them. With his track record from dealing with those at school, and parents who are not particularly affectionate, it's no wonder that he dislikes people as a whole.

When he becomes a teen, I notice Sherlock starting to become condescending toward others, thinking he is superior because of his intelligence. It cannot be denied that he is smarter than pretty much everyone he meets, even his teachers. But he starts to refer to people generally as 'idiots' or 'morons'. I try to nudge him away from those behaviors and I think I am somewhat successful but it's hard to tell. There is part of him, part of his heart, which yearns for someone to understand him, for someone to share in his fascinations – however morbid they might be – or at the very least understand them. I try and help him protect that part of himself, but there is very little I can do. It makes me a little sad to see him become this way and I wonder if he will continue to be like this as an adult.

There is a boy who befriends him, finally. But Sherlock is in college now. He seems genuinely interested, but I am suspicious. No one has been this interested since a young girl half a dozen years before. The girl was driven off by the ridicule of her friends and Sherlock's own personality. This boy is different. He seems to be attracted to Sherlock, even find his deductions and straight forward way of talking fascinating. In some ways Sherlock is very naive. There are things, societal things, which he truly does not understand. Does not wish to understand. And others he has chosen to forget. He is charmed by this man who is a year older than him and lives in his dorm. For the first time he starts to feel romantic feelings. Sebastian is the other boy's name.

At first it was all fun and games. Sherlock would help Seb out with homework and things like that. But then Seb fell into the wrong crowd. Is that the proper thing to say? Perhaps a better description would be that he was lured into the darker side of life. And being with Sherlock as he was, he exposed him to something my young man had never experienced before. Drugs. First it was just once in a while, nothing Sherlock couldn't handle and put aside whenever he wanted. But then I recognized the touch of another of my kind. Some of us are more malevolent than others and as I said, we all have different effects. There is a faction of my kind which can live briefly in certain areas of the mind, but they need a gateway. This gateway is provided by drugs and they are called Addiction by the humans. Fighting demons you cannot see makes it harder for the humans to expel Addiction. But not all of the humans have the assistance of another creature such as myself. Still, I am inexperienced and, having never run into someone from this faction before, unsure of what to do. I cannot let Sherlock die however, so I fight for him the best I can.

Eventually I am able to get rid of the other creature. The only problem is, Sherlock is now in a facility aimed to help him recover from his addiction. For now the gateway is closed, but Addiction has left its taint, left the nagging desire for another taste in Sherlock's mind. I make a nudge. Work, deductions, those will save the young man from further exposure and ruin. He takes to it rather well, starts making a living with it after he gets out of the facility his brother put him in. Assisting the police when he is called upon, after making friends with a Detective Lestrade. I say friends, but that is a loose term which I am not sure should be applied to my host and this Detective.

Sherlock has self-diagnosed years ago, and now flaunts what doctors and books told him he has. He is a High Functioning Sociopath. A very intelligent Sociopath in other words. Sociopath. That is what I am now, and what I will be called until my host can no longer house me. Despite the disastrous relationship in college which ended in ruin, Sherlock still has a part of his heart and mind locked away, yearning for companionship, for someone to truly understand.

Someone new has come into Sherlock's life. An older man with a limp. John Watson, former Army doctor. He is not intimidated by Sherlock and genuinely finds his deductions fascinating. This s good news for us. He is someone who stays with Sherlock, who can deal with all his antics. I try to shrink down more, to allow Sherlock more room to appreciate what he has in John Watson.

The companionship the doctor provides soothes some of the yearning in Sherlock's heart. He relies on the other man more and more to keep him from going back to drugs, to keep him on the right path. It is a good thing and I approve. I try too help him understand how good Watson is for him.

The doctor goes on dates. Lots of dates. Sherlock experiences jealousy for the first time, perhaps. IN his own way he tries to sabotage some of the relationships. He wants Watson all to himself. The detective – as he calls himself now, a consulting detective – has always been a selfish human in some regards. And when it comes to John's attentions it is definitely the case.

When another woman – The Woman – comes into Sherlock's life, there is more jealousy, but this time it is from Watson's side. Sherlock is oblivious to her charms from an emotional standpoint, though from a purely mental stand he does understand and recognize what she is attempting to do. She causes trouble for both of them, but Sherlock is very clever and he fixes it, even if it does take him a little longer than normal. He just needed the right stimuli and a little nudge from me.

That night at the flat, there is an encounter, a fight, and a kiss. The tension and jealousy from the last few days of dealing with The Woman has come to a head. Startling discoveries are made, though more startling for the doctor than for Sherlock. The detective just has no idea how to deal with the situation, Relationships are not really his thing, but it seems he is willing to try for his doctor. I am happy. This is what I was hoping for for my host. Someone to tolerate, understand, care for, and perhaps even love him. This is everything that I could have wanted and more. I settle down into a dark corner and try to stay out of the way, happily observing the two in their every day lives, and try to help Sherlock once in a while not to completely screw it up.

When the time comes, when they have had many years together and it is time for my host to pass on to the next world, or whatever comes next for humans, I decide to let myself fade away with him. With a life as exciting as his and no children to speak of, there is little else for me to live for in this world. I have lived a fulfilling life, and I have no wish to damage another human's mind with my presence. I know, however, the names Sherlock Holmes and his companion Doctor John Watson will never be forgotten. A brilliant, extraordinary man like him cannot be forgotten.


	2. The Bomb Exploded

**The prompt for this was 'The Bomb Exploded', and it reminded me of some theories I read about what would happen between series 1 and 2 of Sherlock. Hope you all enjoy it and as always, Comments/Reviews welcome!**

 **Oh, and nothing Sherlock belongs to me.**

* * *

The bomb exploded. The plan was successful. And then the world slowed down.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion and what seemed like a few seconds after the fireball started to form over the discarded vest – which was covered in explosives – a force hit the young detective from the side. Belatedly he realized the force was his friend John Watson. The next thing he knew, they were both in the water, and John was pulling Sherlock down deeper as the fireball washed over the water and debris started to rain down into it.

It wasn't long until it mostly stopped, and the two were able to kick their way to the surface. Sherlock gasped for air since he wasn't expecting to be shoved into the water, before looking over at his companion in as near to a panic as he'd ever been. "Are you alright, John? Are you alright?!" His voice raised over the sound of fire and the temporary deafness from being so close to an explosion, he knew he must be fairly shouting at the man.

"Yes, I'm alright, calm down!" John ordered the younger man before grabbing him by the jacket and starting to pull him over to the edge of the pool. "We need to get out of here before the whole bloody building comes down on us." He states as he clambers out of the pool and then leans down to help the other man out as well.

Coughing a little from the smoke now filling the remains of the pool area, Sherlock climbed out of the water with John's help, looking at the doctor afterward. "Moriarty?" He asked after looking over at the crater where the C-4 covered vest once was.

Following Sherlock's gaze over toward where there should be a body, John shakes his head a little. "I don't see him, or a body." Looking back at the detective, he frowns when he hears sirens. "Come on, or we'll have to be treated for smoke inhalation, and you must have hit your head, you're bleeding." Grabbing the taller man by the arm, the doctor very nearly drags him out of the pool, coughing and shivering a little when they reach the cool outside air, just in time for ambulances and some police cars to start showing up.

Unsurprisingly, out of one of the cars comes Lestrade, cursing under his breath when he sees the Consulting Detective and his army doctor stumbling out of the building. "Oiy! Lets get some blankets over here!" He shouts to the paramedics as he waves one hand impatiently at the two.

Police, firefighters and paramedics swarm toward the building to make sure no one else is inside as the two wet men get led to the back of an ambulance where blankets are piled on them and one of them starts looking at the somewhat superficial cut on Sherlock's head that nonetheless has started to bleed quite badly merely due to the location.

"Alright, then. Want to tell me what the bloody hell happened here?" Lestrade asks as he walks over to the two, glad to see them alright but frustrated as well by them once again being in the middle of the disaster.

John sighs a little, rubbing his forehead for a moment. "Moriarty kidnapped me. The man who was behind all those phone calls and puzzles. He strapped a bomb to me just like the others. Warned Sherlock to stay out of his way and actually showed his face for once. We thought he had gone, Sherlock took off the vest with the explosives and threw it away from us a bit. Moriarty came back though, to kill us. Sherlock did the only thing he could think to do, he shot the vest and blew it up. We were hoping Moriarty might have been caught in the blast, but I didn't see any body in there.." He sighs a little and watches the EMT carefully to make sure they're doing a good job.

Although he doesn't seem happy about it, Sherlock allows himself to be tended to by the EMT, glancing up at Lestrade. "You won't find a body. Moriarty had other men there as well, snipers. I am sure one of them would have gotten him out if he was not able to himself. The bomb was much closer to him however, so he would not have escaped unscathed, certainly." There is a certain vindictive tone to his voice when he speaks, rarely finding someone worthy of his ire like Moriarty.

Lestrade takes a few notes and he glances toward the building, sighing a little. "Why did you shoot the bomb and not Moriarty, for Christ's sake?" He asks as he looks toward the building and glances at the EMT for a few moments.

"Moriarty had multiple snipers in the building with their guns trained on both of us. If I had short Moriarty there is no doubt in my mind we would be dead. Shooting the explosives was the only way for us to get out alive." Sherlock explains, wincing away from the minstrations of the EMT, giving him quite the glare.

John sighs a little before he looks at the DI. "We've had a long night, we are in soaking clothes and freezing, and just nearly got blown up. You know where we live, Lestrade. The rest of the questions can wait until tomorrow, I imagine." He stands up and pulls his wet wallet out of his pocket, frowning a little as he looks at the equally wet money inside.

"Yeah, sure. I'll have someone give you a ride home." Detective Inspector Lestrade says reluctantly but sympathetically. He dislikes having such a big mess to clean up with so little information, but there's not much to be proved or disproved until the fires are out and the wreckage has been sorted. Motioning to one of the uniforms nearby, he gives the man instructions to bring the two back to 221B Baker Street, then he looks back at the men. "I'll pop round tomorrow." There is no room for any negotiation in his tone, giving them both a meaningful look before he motions. "Go on, then." When the EMT seems about to protest, he holds up his hand to stop him. "Watson is a medical doctor, I'm sure he can take care of any further needs Sherock has."

"Course, we'll be around." John reassures the detective before he goes to the car with the detective for a silent ride home.

It's not until they get back into 221B, changed and dried off a bit, while John is making some tea, that he looks over to where Sherlock is sitting in his chair. "Do you think Moriarty is alive?" He asks as he looks at the younger man curiously.

Steepling his fingers in front of him and rubbing the outside of his index fingers against his chin a little, Sherlock stares into the roaring flames of the fireplace. "Yes. I do." He finally decides after a few moments of silent thought.

"He'll come back for revenge, won't he?" John asks as he stares out the window of the kitchen as he waits for the kettle, fiddling with the mugs in front of him for a moment.

"Most likely." A small nod is given from the brunette as he stares into the fire, slowly turning away from it to look at the stiffened back of his flatmate. Standing slowly, he walks over to where he stands. "We'll be more ready for him next time." He says, putting a hand lightly on the doctor's shoulder.

"You bloody idiot.." John mutters, before he turns and pulls Sherlock in for a tight hug, thumping him on the back a little. "I am bloody glad you're alright, Sherlock." he says in a tight tone, having been keeping this in most of the evening as he hugs the detective for a few more moments before he releases him, clearing his throat and looking away at the tea. "You're right, we'll be ready." He adds in a more calm tone.

Rather surprised at the hug, Sherlock takes advantage of it and returns it until he's released, then he straightens and watches the other man with a perplexed look on his face. "I'm glad we're both alright, John. Shooting a bomb would not have been my first choice, but we had no others." He says simply, before he turns to walk back to his chair. "We should order takeaway. Chinese?"

Smiling a little, John makes the tea and then turns to carry one of the mugs over to Sherlock. "Yeah, I could go for some food. Chinese sounds good. The usual place?" He asks, the tension leaving his shoulders as he sits down in his chair and reaches over to take his cellphone off the side table, glad he had accidentally left it at home.

Making a noise of agreement in the back of his throat, Sherlock accepts the tea and takes a drink slowly of it. "Yes, it's the only place decent enough which also delivers." He says simply as he watches the doctor curiously for a few moments,

"Don't start on that again." John scolds lightly before he gives the detective a meaningful nod. "We'll catch the bastard. It's a marathon it seems, not a sprint." He says before he dials the phone.

Sherlock nods a little and takes another sip of his tea. "Yes, John, we most certainly will catch him. If it the last thing I do, we will catch him."


	3. Never See the Damage

**Just a little blurb that popped into my head when I was cleaning today. I hope you all enjoy it, and as always, I do not own anything Sherlock, that belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and for this version, Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat.**

 **Comments/Reviews welcome!**

* * *

There are many things I,Sherlock Holmes, have never told John. Many things. Because John is a caring person, a doctor, one with a great deal of sympathy. If he knew some of the things in my past, no doubt it would change his opinion of the detective. But one of the biggest things I never told John was about my two years away.

I never told the doctor how the loneliness ate away at me in a way I'd never experienced before. That before I was content to be alone but after the Fall, it became almost unbearable not to have John by my side to talk to, or get his unique insights. There are other things I would never tell John. Like how I spent days and nights on the streets for surveillance, freezing half to death, or hiding away in shacks so that no one would learn I was alive, which were little more than four walls and a dirt floor. And finally, how I finally allowed myself to return to drugs in order to keep my mind sharp and focused on the task.

Most importantly, I would never let John know how much physical damage I sustained while I was gone. Bruises, minor broken bones, cuts, all sustained without my army doctor there to help me. And when my brother finally recalled me to London, it was right after a rather brutal beating. Something that he obviously enjoyed or he would have ended it far sooner than he did.

When we were living in Baker Street, I remembered a show on the tellie that John was watching, something to do with an idiot and a blue box, but what I recalled the most was a line which said 'never let the Doctor see the damage'. Of course the situation was very different, but I quickly discovered that it was a good rule to live by nonetheless. If he saw the pain he became insufferable and overbearing. But it also seemed to activate his soldier's instincts to protect people. Namely those that he cares about. The aches, pains and results of our adventures must be hidden if at all possible.

When I returned to London, I knew that John would be more than a little upset, not quite so foolish as to think my friend would merely forgive me right away. I did think the man would be a touch happier to see me, but I do miscalculate once in a while. Disguising my pain from my friend was one of the hardest things I have ever done, yet at the same time I purposely did little to defend myself when John inevitably attacked. Even if I saw the aggression coming a mile away.

I may not have had many in my time, but I have discovered that friendship sometimes means keeping your silence and letting the other person vent their emotions. I've learned a lot about friendship and how dear it can be, from John. One of the people I care most for in the world, one of the people I faked my death to protect.

And in my case, friendship means never letting my doctor see the damage.


End file.
